Saberhagen, Fred 03 – Stonecutter’s Story

But none of this, not even the sight of Natalia posing unclothed, claimed Kasimir’s attention more than momentarily. Within a few seconds after he had made his peephole in the cloth draperies, Kasimir’s attention was entirely riveted upon the object in de Borron’s hands.

The sculptor was now indeed working with the Sword of Siege.

The hidden observer could be very sure of this, even though very little of Stonecutter’s length was actually visible. Almost the entire weapon was out of sight, sandwiched between a pair of thin, flat boards that were held firmly together with clamps. From one end of this sandwich a dull black hilt protruded, and from the other end, that nearest the work, a few centimeters of bright steel.

Attached at right angles to the flat boards making up this improvised sheath were rounded wooden handles. These offered good grips for the artist, who needed only the few exposed centimeters of the blade to work the stone.

But the most ingenious part of the Sword-holder’s design, as Kasimir observed it, was the way in which the whole sandwich of Sword and wood was suspended from overhead, on what looked like a fishing-rod of slender steel, with counterweight attached. By this means the sculptor’s arms and hands were freed of the continual burden of the weighty Sword, his muscles were liberated to concentrate upon the demands of art and of the client’s deadlines.

Obviously the work was going very swiftly now, and doubtless the artist, despite the occasional expression of anguish that passed across his face, was basically satisfied with how it went. The Sword as he used it to cut stone made little thudding noises. These seemed to have little or no connection with the physical work it was accomplishing, being rather a by-product of its magic. Kasimir needed a minute or two to convince himself that such an inappropriate sound was really coming from the Sword, and was not an echo of the coarse pounding by the workers in the background.

But the dull little thudding sound was proceeding from the Sword, all right. Under the sure control of de Borron’s strong hands, Stonecutter’s irresistible point was peeling and scooping delicate little chips of stone from the white marble shape. Already the work had taken on at least the crude shape of its model in all its parts, and some of those parts looked completely finished. Only the final stages of carving and smoothing remained to be done.

It was obvious that the work had been going on in this swift fashion for some time. For hours, probably, if the drift of tiny, distinctively shaped chips and shavings around the sculptor’s feet offered any reliable indication.

The amplified likeness of Natalia, subtly transformed by de Borron’s skill, was rapidly emerging from the stone. But despite the evidence of rapid progress, and the fact that de Borron appeared pleased and fascinated with his new tool, it was apparent to Kasimir that the artist had not yet mastered the Sword to his own satisfaction. Fascination was far from contentment. The artist was intent on learning everything that this magical device would let him do.

He was muttering to himself-or perhaps to his Muse- almost continually as he worked. Kasimir was not quite able to make out any of these comments.

The studio was not as busy as it had been during the day, but a few more people were present, all of them Red Temple personnel of one kind or another. Chief among these, the High Priest himself, now came strolling around the corner of the L, heading in the direction of the laboring artist. The priest had his hands clasped behind his back, and his expression was one of impatience held in check by deliberate toleration; it must appear to him now that his precious deadline was going to be met after all. In no more than a few hours, perhaps, the installation of his precious gambling tables in this space could begin.

The official spoke. “So, it appears that you are going to finish on time, de Borron.”

The sculptor, without removing his eyes from his model, muttered something in response. Stonecutter continued to make its dull incongruous noise, and thin stone leaves released by the bright blade fluttered almost continuously to the floor.

“What’s that you say, sculptor?”

The man with the Sword in his hands looked up. “I said, ‘Yes, if I am not bothered too much by fools.'” This time the answer was spoken with fierce clarity.

The man in the red robes flushed. “One day, stonecutter, you will push your arrogance too far.”

But with that the exchange of sharp words died out; de Borron had already turned back to his work and Kasimir, watching, thought it doubtful that he had even heard the priest’s reply.

Meanwhile some of the other people in red livery were also strolling closer to where the master artist worked. A couple of them, besides the two enthralled with Natalia, were from security. Two more, women, were probably minor officials, Kasimir thought, come up here to see where the gambling tables were going to be when the remodeling was finished.

The two supposed guards who had abandoned all thoughts of duty in favor of gaping at the model were gaping at her still. Only when one of these moved closer for a better look, actually getting himself into the sculptor’s immediate range of vision, did de Borron bark something that sent both men into a hasty retreat.

The High Priest, who had earlier retreated a few steps, said something in a low voice that Kasimir did not catch.

The sculptor heard him, though, and snapped back: “If you want me to finish quickly, then in the name of all the gods get out of my way and let me work!”

Kasimir was just wondering whether he ought to start back down the elevator shaft-he foresaw that getting out of the temple again would take time-and report to Wen Chang as quickly as possible that the Sword was definitely here, when his thoughts were interrupted by a faint and furtive sound coming from somewhere to his right.

Turning his head sharply in that direction, he saw that some of the ropes and chains that hung down into the elevator shaft were stirring slightly, as if someone below were pulling on them or at least had touched them.

While Kasimir had been busy making his own unauthorized entrance into these private parts of the temple, it had not even occurred to him to wonder at how easy it all was. You expected security to be lax in a Red Temple. But now he wondered suddenly whether his entrance had not been suspiciously, ominously easy. Whether a path might not have been deliberately left unguarded; not for him, of course. For someone else, and he had happened to find it.

There were more sounds from the elevator shaft, very faint sounds. Sounds that he would not have heard or noticed if he had not been listening intently for them.

Someone else was coming up to the studio, by the same route Kasimir had taken.

If Kasimir stayed where he was, the new arrival or arrivals would be certain to discover him as soon as they reached the top of the shaft. Maybe it was Red Temple security, after all alert enough to do some checking up on loosened panels. Maybe it was someone else.

As quietly as he could, Kasimir scrambled away from the opening of the shaft, moving into the deeper shadows along the wall of canvas draperies.

>From beyond that wall came Natalia’s voice, speaking suddenly and clearly. “I need to take a break,” she said.

Kasimir, satisfied for the moment that he was safe from discovery, fumbled at the cloth in front of him again until he found another tiny hole, which enabled him to once more look out into the studio. He was in time to see Natalia grabbing up her robe from the floor and pulling it around her, while at the same time she shot a swift glance toward the open elevator shaft. It was not a look of puzzlement, or idle curiosity; instead it was full of calculation.

She had heard the sounds there too, and Kasimir got the impression that she had been expecting them.

“Can’t you wait?” de Borron barked at her, automatically protesting the interruption of his work.

“No, I can’t.” Tying the belt of her robe, the tall young woman tossed back her drab hair defiantly. The Old World light did nothing for its color. “We’ve been at it for hours. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold my arms up like that.”

“All right, I suppose you’re due for a break.” The artist’s voice was tired. He was rubbing his hands together now, as if to restore circulation in his own tired limbs. He had let go of the apparatus that held the Sword, so that Stonecutter in its odd wooden sheath bobbed lightly in midair, dependent on its fishing-rod support.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *